


Take A Break

by staringatstars



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depressed Sans, Night Terrors, Non-Verbal Frisk, Sign Language, some spoilers for genocide and neutral routes, spoilers for pacifist route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:38:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans decides he's going to take a break this timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take A Break

_“HUMAN, YOU ARE TOO COLD TO FIGHT LIKE THIS. WHY, YOU WOULD BE NO CHALLENGE AT ALL! I SHALL CAPTURE YOU ONCE WE HAVE GOTTEN YOU WARMED UP.”_

_The tall skeleton is loud, and a little scary at first, but he picks you up and wraps his scarf around your shoulders and doesn’t set you down again until your teeth stop chattering. Once you’ve finished slurping down the soup he made for you, you can’t stop yawning, and though you try to hide it by ducking your head under your blankets and shoving a fist into your mouth, the skeleton isn’t the least bit fooled._

_“WELL, NOW YOU ARE MUCH TOO TIRED. I SHALL CAPTURE YOU AFTER YOU GET SOME REST.”_

_Suddenly, you’re in his arms again and he’s carrying you up the stairs. You want to tell him to put you down but your arms are pinned down by the fabric wrapped around your body and squirming results in little more than an amused chuckle._

_He drops you in the bed, says he’s going to sleep downstairs, since the couch is large and more than enough for the Great Papyrus, but you run out of the bed and clutch his arm, begging with your eyes for him to stay._

_And he does._

_And when you wake up with a scream lodged in your throat because you can still feel the bone piercing your windpipe, he’s there. He rubs your back until your horrified, petrified silence breaks down into a terrible wail that comes from someplace inside you that’s dark and scared, and he keeps rubbing until even that passes, changing into a light sniffle, and he pulls you close enough to smell the lingering tomato sauce on his clothes as he says, “IT IS OKAY, HUMAN. DON’T CRY. WE DO NOT HAVE TO FIGHT FOR, YOU SEE, THE FIGHT HAS BEEN INDEFINITELY CANCELED... FOREVER.”_

 

Sans decides he’s going to take a break this run. The human will be fine without him - he's never really protected them that much, anyway – and, short of killing everyone, he doesn't much care how they choose to spend their time. Maybe he will in another run, but this time, he just wants to close his eyes and sleep, without any interruptions, until the next inevitable reset. 

And since having his soul absorbed counts as a major interruption, he closes the shutters over his windows, hoping the little prince will take the hint and leave him alone whenever it is that he gets around to stealing all the souls in the Underground. 

It takes a few tries to drag his concrete limbs out of bed, but the phone isn’t more than a few steps away, waiting patiently on his dresser, so he reaches out, swipes it up, and then plugs in his boss’ number with slow, plodding punches. 

“yeah, undyne, i’m just not feeling up to it today. you could even say i’m,” he pauses to listen, the sharp edges of his grin melting into something lighter and more genuine as she begins spewing out preemptive threats, “ _bone_ -tired.” There's a crash and the line goes dead. 

Chuckling under his breath, Sans drops the phone. It misses its cradle, clattering to the ground with another deafening crash. He doesn’t bother picking it up.

It sounds like Alphys is going to have to build Undyne a new cellphone again. How many has she destroyed now?

His brow furrows, the realization that he honestly can’t remember, can’t even begin to separate the timelines enough to guess, throwing a bucket of cold water over what had almost been the start of a good mood. Has it been over a hundred? Ten? Somewhere in between?

Well, it's not like it actually matters. Nothing does, right?

Suddenly too exhausted to even lift his head, he shuffles his feet across the floor until his bed is close enough to touch, and falls over. It's hard not to think about how nice it would be if he never had to move again. 

“ARE YOU TRULY FEELING UNWELL?”

The door to his room is usually locked precisely because of days like these, but that has never stopped Papyrus from barging in before. The blatant concern dimming his usually vibrant expression sends the small part of Sans that isn’t already numb huddling away like a guilty rat. 

“UH, SANS?”

Sans forces his eyes to focus in on his brother, noticing for the first time that he’s unconsciously allowed them to dim. “nah, bro, you know me. i’m just a little tuckered out from all the breaks i take. figured it was time to take a break from taking breaks.” 

Papyrus makes a frustrated noise behind closed teeth. “A BREAK FROM A BREAK WOULD BE WORK, SANS!”

“is that so? guess i’m taking a break from taking a break from taking a break, then." And there should be an exasperated retort coming right about- "uh, bro?” Sighing, Papyrus picks Sans up in his arms, deposits him on the bed with ease, and then picks up the nearby ball of crumbled sheets with a critical frown. While he went about untangling it, Sans tried to sit up, only for Papyrus to begin using his chest as a makeshift table he could use to separate the sheets with. 

“YOU ARE MANY THINGS, BROTHER – LAZY BEING ONE OF THEM – BUT YOU ARE NOT A LIAR. IF YOU TOLD UNDYNE YOU ARE NOT FEELING WELL, THEN I BELIEVE YOU.” He smiles, big and wide. “AND ALSO YOUR JOKES GET A BIT… _TIRED_ WHEN YOU’RE DOWN.” 

Heh. Well, that was it, then. There wasn’t any hiding that this was an off-day from his brother. Knowing that, he suddenly feels very small, but not in a bad way. Pulling the covers over every inch of his body, until only his eyes peek out from over them, Sans mumbles, “…ok.”

There were a few light clicks as Papyrus rests a hand over his forehead, letting out a low, approving hum. “JUST STAY HERE AND REST TODAY, BROTHER. I WILL LET THE HUMAN KNOW YOU ARE NOT FEELING WELL.”

Awareness, once slipping, comes flying back with all the violence of a snapped rubber band. Sans latches onto his brother’s arm as he moves to leave. “the human’s here?” There is slightest uptick in pitch at the tail end of his sentence, but considering that what he really wants to do was start screaming, a little change in octave here and there isn’t really that big of a deal. 

“YES, DID YOU FORGET?” Papyrus looks at him more closely, no doubt wondering if he should stay home, after all. “I CAPTURED THEM YESTERDAY AND THEY SPENT THE NIGHT WITH US. THEY SEEMED RATHER RATTLED THIS MORNING, THOUGH. IT SEEMS THEIR DREAMS WERE RATHER MEAN TO THEM.” He shrugs a little miserably. “I OFFERED TO LISTEN, BECAUSE TELLING YOU ABOUT MY MEAN DREAMS ALWAYS MAKES ME FEEL BETTER, BUT THEY REFUSED TO TELL ME WHAT THE DREAM WAS ABOUT. PERHAPS, WHEN YOU ARE FEELING A LITTLE BETTER, YOU COULD VISIT THEM?”

That actually makes a whole lot of sense. If the timelines are bleeding through – and judging by the headache pounding under his skull they are – then he isn’t the only one with problems. And that's too bad. He’s been looking forward to getting some rest, for once. “sure thing, bro. i’ll look after them.” 

And with a jaunty wave, Papyrus leaves ~~and he never sees him again-~~

~~And becomes the king of his monsters but he’s miserable and Sans can’t keep lying forever but how is he supposed to tell him that they’re _never_ coming back-~~

-and calls up on his way out the door, “THERE’S SPAGHETTI IN THE FRIDGE IF YOU OR THE HUMAN GET HUNGRY! IT’S DELICIOUS!” A short pause and then, “I SHOULD KNOW BECAUSE I MADE IT!” His boisterous laughter fills the house, bouncing off the walls until the door slams shut behind him, blocking it out. 

And yet the remaining echo hasn’t even faded entirely before Sans finds himself starting to miss him. In some ways, he’d started to miss him before he’d even left. 

He buries his head in his pillow with a groan. Somewhere, the kid is scared, and the longer he stays in bed, the longer they’ll have to deal with whatever it was they are going through alone. He knows what it was like to be alone and afraid. At the very least, they could be afraid together. 

Ugh, he's starting to sound like Papyrus. Maybe he’ll head into the kitchen before going to check on the human. Drinking a bottle of ketchup always helps him feel more like himself.

Except his legs weren’t quite up for another trek across the room. They wobbled, shook, buckled under his weight, and the next thing he knows he's greeting the floor with his face. “…ow.”

Flopping over on his back, Sans experimentally tries to lift his arms and legs. They each rise about two inches into the air before he is forced to let them fall back to the earth. He can’t remember the last time he needed to put this much effort into something as simple as walking. 

For one terrifying instant, he wonders if this is what falling down feels like. 

The thought galvanizes him until the weights tied around his limbs drop from an impossible fifty pounds to a more manageable twenty and he totters to his feet. The only thing he’s accomplished thus far is standing up on his own, and yet if someone had offered to give him a medal for the feat, he’d have taken it in a heartbeat. Because he absolutely deserves it. 

The steps get easier after that. The trick is to focus on what is right in front of him. Focus on the doorknob, the wood boards, the railing, and the stairs. Focus on moving one foot in front of the other. 

In the kitchen, there is a bottle of ketchup standing next to an empty glass on the counter. Picking up the note with a curious twitch of his brow, Sans read:

_DEAR SANS,_

_HURRAY! YOU HAVE LEFT YOUR ROOM! I UNDERSTAND YOU MUST BE HUNGRY, SO I LEFT THIS BOTTLE OF KETCHUP ON THE COUNTER TO CELEBRATE. IF YOU ARE FEELING UP TO IT, PLEASE USE THE GLASS. IT IS MUCH MORE CIVILIZED THAN DRINKING YOUR KETCHUP STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE._

_BE SEEING YOU AND THE HUMAN SOON,_  
_PAPYRUS_

Sans holds the bottle to his lips, tips it back, and downs half of it. The glass, though appreciated, goes untouched. It's around when he's smacking his lips, satisfied, that he realizes he hasn’t seen the human once, despite all the noise he must have made crawling out of his room and then lumbering his way down the stairs. Did they seriously plan to spend the entire run in bed? Because that’d been his idea first and if he doesn’t get to stay in bed than neither does the human. He sets the ketchup down and takes a deep breath. “alright, kid, time to see what’s bugging you.”

There is a stifled squeak and he spins around in time to see a flash of purple fabric disappear up the stairs, accompanied by the sound of light, rapid footsteps. Then a door slams shut and Sans just… sighs. “here we go.”

Mostly likely, they were dreaming about Papyrus. It’d explain why the kid was so reluctant to tell him about their dream, why they didn’t leave their room until after Papyrus had already left, and why they are still staying out of sight now. 

Actually, where are they staying?

The shed's out since he’s just seen them scampering around the house, the couch is empty, and his room is locked whether he's in it or not. That just left Pap’s room. So they’d slept in Papyrus’ room, which either meant he’d slept on the couch or the kid had begged him to stay.

And Sans can't help but feel that he should know this. He’d thought he’d just woken up out of it but no matter how hard he tries to remember the day before, all he gets are fragments, sights and sounds that could have come from anywhere. 

The trek up the stairs isn’t as bad as the journey down, likely since he now had food converting to magic in his system, but he still finds himself trudging up them, practically dragging his feet. Once he's outside the door, hand poised over the wood, he decides that this half-hearted attitude isn’t going to cut it in front of the kid, and shakes himself. Then, with maybe a little more force than necessary, he presses his bones against the wood and knocks.

Silence.

The door doesn’t open. “kid?”

There is a muted _eep_ and a quiet rustle of sheets moving, but no sign of the door opening anytime soon. Sans lets himself in. 

There is a child-sized lump under the covers, quivering like a leave. He puts a hand on the kid’s head, skeletal fingers hooking under the fabric, and yanks it off fast, like ripping off a band aid.

The kid’s face is tear-streaked, flushed around their cheeks and too pale everywhere else. The second they catch sight of him their eyes widen to the size of grapefruits, an odd choking noise issuing out of their mouth. They're trembling, never letting him out of their sight, refusing even to blink as they grip the blankets in their hands like a shield.

It all gives Sans a pretty good idea of what they’d dreamt about. It's so satisfying, sometimes, to see this kid shiver in their boots at the sight of him, but that's when they're carrying a knife. Right now, the only object in their possession that could possibly be used as a weapon is hidden in the folds of their blankets, and it's one of Papyrus’ action figures. He must have given it to them before he left, to chase away the nightmares. 

Scratching his skull, Sans starts to speak but the kid doesn’t even let him finish. They flinch so hard they tumble right off the bed. “kid!” He rushes around to the other side of the bed to find they’ve scrambled out of the crumpled heap they’d landed in and backed themselves against the wall. They're looking at him like he's going to grip their soul and slam them against the ceiling, like he's the monster from their nightmares. 

With a sharp intake of breath that whistles through his jaw, he realizes that's exactly what he is.

Through some strange twist of fate, he’s wound up the bad guy.

The kid’s breathing is shallow as they watch him, too fast, and he doesn’t know a lot about humans but he's pretty sure this one is going to pass out if they don’t calm down soon. “so, uh, you must hungry.” No reply. Not that he’d been expecting one. “there’s spaghetti in the refrigerator if you want. it wasn’t left outside to freeze so it might even be edible.”

Their eyes slide to the doorway, then snap back to him. With slow, deliberate movements, Sans reaches out a skeletal hand to try to coax them away from the wall. “you can’t eat up here, kiddo. if you’re hungry, then you’re gonna have to come downstairs.” A low rumble in their stomach answers for them. "sounds like you are." They flushed a red, healthy color that Sans has to suppress a relieved giggle at the sight of. With the way he's feeling, he doubts any laughter coming from him would sound too friendly. 

When the kid still refuses to move away from the wall, he tries a different tactic. He backs away first, giving them some space. If he leaves the room entirely, they might leave on their own, but they also might stay huddled against the wall until he was out the front door and they were sure they weren’t going to run into each other again. And considering this is his house…

Well, they haven’t darted out of the room screaming yet, so that's encouraging. “you want to tell me what’s got you so rattled?” They shake their head. “no? that’s fine. papyrus told me you had a bad dream.” At the mention of his brother, the kid’s face lights up, their eyes desperately searching the doorway for a familiar grin, ears straining for the sound of booted footsteps on wood and a boisterous cackle.

It's painfully obvious that they're waiting for Papyrus to scoop them up and save them, and doesn’t that just sting a little? “kid, i may not know exactly what you dreamt about, but i think i’m starting to get a pretty good grasp of the gist of it.” He holds out his hand for them to take and gets into a more comfortable sitting position, since he doesn’t know how long he's going to have to wait before the kid believes him when he says, “i’m not gonna hurt you,” and accepts the offered hand. 

At first, they don’t move, and then, gradually, their gaze loses some of its haunted quality, their shoulders slump, losing some of their stiffness. Cocking their head, they blink curiously up at him, all while he stays very still, careful not to move too quickly or make any sudden sounds. He's not even sure he's breathing. 

Finally, the kid places an index finger over their lips, makes a fist over their chest with their other hand, and then places an open palm over the fist. When he doesn’t immediately respond, they repeat the gesture, slowly this time, and then what they're trying to say finally clicks. 

_Promise?_

He lets his hand fall as he shakes his head, feeling empty and spent and a million other things he can’t put into words with a brain that has to be coaxed into coherent thought. “sorry, kid. i can’t promise that.” Instead of turning away, they simply nod, like this was the answer they’d expected to hear, and point to themselves.

_Me, too._

“oh? what are you sorry for?” They touch the side of their shaking head, the corners of their lips tugged low, then make a sweeping, all encompassing motion with their palms. 

_Don’t know. Everything._

Sans sits back on his haunches as he chews on that. There isn’t much he could do to convince the human it isn’t their fault, especially since he's not entirely sure he believes that himself. Intellectually, he knows this kid isn’t like the others. But he also knows they could turn at any time. It's only a question of when they slip up, when sparing gets too tough, too frustrating, when dying over and over gets too exhausting, and they decide to fight. 

And yet, right now… the child cowering in front of him… is innocent. “you know what? let’s not think about it for now. like i said before, pap’s made some food for us and i don’t know about you but i’m absolutely famished.” He stands up, feeling pleased when the human slowly matches his movements. Then they tug their lips away from their teeth, mimicking a smile too wide for their face, and Sans has to struggle not to laugh. “is that supposed to be pap?” The human bobs their head. “can you do me?”

Hunching over, the human plasters a broad grin on their face, their hands plunged deep into the pockets sewn over their shorts. Sans lets out an amused snort, and some more of the weight seems to fall from their shoulders. They brighten at the sound, finally letting their guard down enough for Sans to quickly grab hold of their hand. The kid stiffens, freezing like he’s pulled out a knife, which is ironic in an awful way that he’ll have to put aside time to fully appreciate later. “kid, i told you before that i wasn’t going to hurt you. do you think you can trust me?” They shake their head, nod, then finally settle with a shrug. “that’s fine. i can work with that.”

A little at a time, they relax, tension slipping out of them until their small hand goes limp in his grip, but that's not quite good enough. He recites knock knock jokes from memory, tosses out puns like they're free fries at Grillby’s, and keeps holding on until the fear melts into a swirling, confused mix of amusement and annoyance. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as they aren’t afraid of him. 

And maybe it was when their hand tightened around his when they were climbing down the stairs, as the kid shuffled step after step with Pap’s sheets and the superhero action figure still clutched close to their chest like some sort of armor, or maybe it was when he was spooning out spaghetti and some of the sauce splattered onto the kid’s nose, but Sans realizes that somewhere between the pep talk and the bowl full of pasta, the sweeping exhaustion saturating his soul began to fade. 

So he twirls a long strand of spaghetti into a makeshift mustache, listens to the kid giggle through a mouthful of food, and prays that they're worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays!


End file.
